A/N: This is the Chudley Cannons Captain checking in for Season 10 Round 2 of QLFC.
CAPTAIN: Pull inspiration from Stephen King's IT.
I found this little gem online about IT and the theme of storytelling: "King uses the theme of storytelling and memory as a device that helps the characters understand the nature of the force they are fighting, but also as a means of moving forward into lives that are healthy and whole."
NOTE: This was originally published as a condensed version to meet QLFC guidelines. After judging was complete, I uploaded the piece in full.
Thank you to my teammates Arty and Ashleigh for betaing!
Sunlight filtered through the clouded windows of the Great Hall, blanketing everything in a hazy mid-morning glow. Ron sat on the edge of one of the tables against the far wall, his eyes unfocused as he stared up toward the yellow beams of light.
It was oddly peaceful after all the tragedy. His head was pounding something awful, though, and that made it harder for him to appreciate the peace.
"Ron."
Of course, after so much destruction and death, it seemed odd to even try to appreciate the peace.
"Ron?"
Ron blinked. The rest of the Great Hall started to fade back into focus. The students and professors who'd stayed to fight. The bodies at rest on the other end. And Harry.
Harry was waving a hand in front of his face.
"What?"
Harry smirked. "You're staring into space. Where'd you go?"
Ron dropped his gaze to the floor. Harry exuded peace. Which was a good thing. He'd earned it after all he'd been through, and not just during this final battle. For all the pain he'd been dealt his whole life.
"Ron?"
"Sorry." He looked back up at Harry and blinked again, this time training his eyes on his best mate's face. "I think I'm just processing."
Harry nodded, sinking onto the bench beside Ron's feet. Harry turned until he was straddling the bench, then he leaned back, laying across it, his arm covering his eyes. Ron took this to mean Harry, too, wanted a little bit of quiet.
Which, Ron thought as his face turned upward once again, Harry deserved. Luckily, everyone still left at Hogwarts seemed to be giving Harry a wide berth following the downfall of You-Know-Who. Was it from awe? Perhaps. Or maybe everyone felt just as shell-shocked as Ron. Forty-eight hours ago, he was riding a dragon out of bloody Gringotts of all places, and now his brother was dead.
Ron sucked in a breath. This was why he was trying to zone out, but the thought kept creeping back.
Across the Great Hall sat his family. Mum and Ginny and George and Fleur. His dad was still moving around, checking in on minor injuries and clearing debris. Percy and Bill were helping.
Fred had a sheet over his face in the corner…
Ron wasn't ready to face them. He doubted they'd start in on questioning where he'd been for nearly the last year, but he knew that conversation was inevitable, and he was fine pushing it off until absolutely necessary.
He was surprised Harry decided to sit with him and not Ginny. But he didn't think it was the time to ask.
Before he even saw her, Hermione approached, her trainers making a soft flapping sound as rubber soles met stone floor.
He hadn't really talked to her yet either.
Hermione's mouth was pursed, her brow knit. Words pressed at her lips, but she kept them contained, her eyes trained on Ron. When she caught his eye, he could see her shoulders relaxing.
"What did he say?" Ron asked. He wanted to get up, to go to her, but he didn't know his boundaries yet. He didn't even know if she meant what happened during the battle in the Room of Requirement or if it truly had been a heat-of-the-moment kiss.
Though, and he realized this was so different from his normal reaction to things, he truly felt like Hermione meant it when she'd kissed him. He couldn't explain it; he'd spent months worrying over how imperfect he was for her, how he could never measure up to someone like her. But he knew it must have been real, that he was worthy.
He still wanted to hear it from her.
Hermione sighed, her brow finally settling as she stepped in closer.
"He was a bit short with me," she said. Then she shook her head. "Actually, he was completely upset. Didn't shout or anything, but he essentially told me to give him a few days."
At that, she grimaced. Dirt stained the bridge of her nose. Dried blood remained on her cheek. Her hair was the bushiest it had ever been, and parts were tinged shorter by Fiendfyre. Despite all that, she was the most beautiful person he'd ever laid eyes on.
He wanted to tell her. He should. Hermione stepped closer still, her underlying fear and sadness coming into view.
He'd tell her later.
Instead, he reached out a hand. Hermione took it, and Ron pulled her to him without a word. Her hips rested between his knees as her arms wrapped around his neck. She buried her face into his chest, and Ron placed his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her middle.
Embracing her so intimately seemed both foreign and familiar. Natural. Like they were meant to be there. He felt eyes on them—none as interested as his mum's—so he closed his eyes, breathing Hermione in.
"Who?"
Hermione jumped in his arms, but neither let go. Instead, they looked down at Harry as he blinked up at them from the bench.
"Who's angry?"
"Kingsley." Hermione grimaced again. She let go of Ron this time and stepped back to explain. "After we left Dumbledore's office, or, well. I guess it's Mcgonagall's now. Anyways," she waved her hands in front of her face, getting back on subject, "I told Ron how I know it may not be today or tomorrow, but I want to find my parents now that I know they'll be safe. But—"
"She needed to tell the Ministry what happened," Ron finished. "Since the spell was complicated and broke the law—"
"Which is why Kingsley's mad." Hermione sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "He's furious I did this to them. Understanding, sure. But furious. He seems to think if I truly thought they were in danger, I should have told him last summer. He would've set up a safe house like Mad-Eye did for your aunt and uncle."
Her brow furrowed again. "Do you think I made a mistake sending them away?"
"No," Ron reassured, just as Harry said, "Absolutely not."
Hermione's face relaxed, her lips coming together finally to smile gratefully, first at Harry, then Ron.
"At least you understand." Just as quickly, her smile faded away again. "Though, Kingsley's anger just means more time until I can track them down."
"Do you think the spell's still in effect?" Harry asked.
She shrugged.
"I'm sure they're safe," Ron said. He could see the news of waiting longer weighed on her mind as her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt over and over. So he added, "And I bet we'll find them in no time once we've got the Ministry on board."
"We?"
"Er—" He rubbed the back of his neck, his face heating in embarrassment. He couldn't look her in the eye anymore. "If you want the company."
"I'd-I'd love it." He finally looked back, letting himself have this moment to appreciate the hint of admiration in her eyes.
He could reach out and touch her. He wanted to. He—
"Should I leave?"
They both jumped again, turning to a smirking Harry.
"I could leave," he was saying, standing up at the same time, "Kreacher keeps trying to feed me anyway. If I go, you two can enjoy staring at each other in silence for as long as you want."
"Shove off," Ron muttered, a smile playing at his lips. Hermione merely blushed, one of her hands coming to cover her face.
It was beyond adorable.
"Just hold on," she said, dropping her hand. "There was something else Kingsley mentioned. Something both of you should hear, although…"
She looked around, scanning the Great Hall as students and professors and Order members gathered in groups.
"Something we should keep to ourselves?" Harry guessed. Hermione nodded.
Ron looked around at all the familiar faces. No one here would be a snitch or deliberately eavesdrop to their benefit. But, he trusted Hermione to know what she was talking about.
He glanced at his family again, his mum still watching from afar. Ginny also seemed to have caught on that the three of them were talking in hushed tones, her eyes not so subtly flitting between her hands in her lap and Harry across the room.
An idea started to form in Ron's head.
"I know where we can go. We'll just need an open Floo."
He stood, his feet dropping from the bench to the floor. He did his best not to look at his family again, knowing if they saw his face, he'd never be able to get Hermione and Harry to where he knew they'd be safe to talk freely.
"A Floo?" Hermione fell in step with him as he led the way out of the Great Hall. Harry trailed behind. "I think the one in the Headmistress's office will do the trick."
Ten minutes later, they gathered around the dusty table at the Burrow. Ron knew his family had been in hiding for the last several months, so he expected the place to be a bit unkempt. Or at least more unkempt than normal. But his home felt eerily empty and desolate, even though most of his parents' things still lined the shelves, from the old kettle pot waiting to boil water down to the collection of wires his dad kept in the kitchen.
"Are you sure no one will be here?" Hermione asked again.
"They won't leave—him." Ron's gaze dropped to the table, unable to say Fred's name out loud. He felt a soft hand wrap around his own and met Hermione's eyes from beside him.
"Okay then," she said. Then she turned so that Harry could see her face too. "Kinsgley said to expect an interview with the Aurors once things settle."
"An interview?" Ron asked.
"An interrogation," Harry clarified.
"You think so?"
"Of course," Hermione said. "They'll want to know where we've been and why. How we knew to go to Hogwarts when we did. What happened at Gringotts…"
They sat in silence for a moment. Ron thought of everything they'd done in the past few months. He'd have to tell the Aurors all the horrors he'd seen. All the grime he'd been through that led to the final battle.
"I think it would be wise if we talked through it together first," Hermione said. "Right now, we're the only people who know about the Horcruxes. The Hallows. Everything. We have time to prepare what we'll say."
"Everything, right? Wouldn't that be the smartest choice?" Ron asked.
"Ron," Hermione said gently, "we've broken so many laws."
"But Harry beat You-Know-Who. That should count for something." He looked across the table to Harry, who wore a sheepish grin.
"I also set loose a wild dragon on an unsuspecting England."
"Don't forget we made Polyjuice potion—illegally—infiltrated the Ministry while essentially kidnapping Ministry employees. We broke into Gringotts, into someone's vault, and regardless of whose vault it actually was, that's still a crime," Hermione said. Then she added under her breath, "Harry used Imperio, for goodness sake."
"So right now, we have the upper hand? We could leave out certain details when we talk to the Aurors?" Ron asked.
"But we have to decide what to say first."
A long pause hung in the air as they stared at each other, eyes wide. Hermione still held on to his hand, her own fingers curling into his palm as her nerves built up. He squeezed reassuringly, or, he hoped it was reassuring, at least. The gesture seemed to wake something up inside her, and Hermione shook her head, her voice breaking the awkward silence they'd fallen into.
"The prophecy. I think we start there," she said.
As he, Hermione, and Harry began reliving the last four years, Ron couldn't help thinking about how lucky they truly were to be alive. Harry in the graveyard, all of them in the Department of Mysteries, Death Eaters infiltrating Hogwarts in the dead of night… and that was before the Horcrux hunt.
"We need to clear Sirius's name," Harry said, pulling Ron back. They had just decided to tell the Aurors about Sirius falling into the veil. "Now's the chance."
Hermione nodded. "That means we'll have to tell them about Pettigrew."
"Which means, we'll have to tell them how he died." Ron felt Hermione stiffen at his words.
"Malfoy Manor…" Harry looked grim. "Listen, I know how awful it was, but I don't want to… Narcissa saved my life."
Hermione's hand left Ron's, her fingers instinctively going to the thin white scar etched into her throat. Ron's own body tensed.
"How—how much do we want to tell?" Her voice was hoarse, as if she'd spent the whole night reciting from Hogwarts, A History. Ron wanted to take away the pain she was so clearly feeling, the memory of her torture so disterssing, it turned her powerful voice into a whisper.
Did she want the entire Ministry knowing what Bellatrix had done? He could already see her calculating what would happen if they did, the results shining through her terrified eyes.
The Prophet would have a field day, wouldn't it? She'd never escape the reminders of that damned night or that damned woman.
"We say we were captured." Ron took the lead, his own voice quiet but firm. "That's all. We say we were captured. That Dobby came to our rescue. That we got to Shell Cottage." He looked intently at Hermione. "We don't have to say anything more, if you don't want us to."
"What about Pettigrew?" Her hand was still on her neck. He gently took it in his, his grip an unspoken promise that she was alright. Hermione blinked back tears.
"He had a change of heart while we were in the dungeon," Harry said from across the table. Ron had almost forgotten he was there. "That's the truth. We'll say he had that change of heart, and that's what alerted Bellatrix to our escape. That's why Dobby died."
The room fell silent again. After a few beats, Ron sighed.
"Merlin, I hate that we're talking about all this, but I'm also glad. Imagine if the first time we said this was in front of a room of Aurors."
"Imagine what The Prophet would say," Hermione mused.
"As someone who's been on the receiving end of shit Prophet reporting, I am very happy that we're working through this now." Harry smirked. "So, we clear Sirius's name. That brings us to Dumbledore telling me about the Horcruxes."
On and on they went, the details of their sixth year relived by the ghastly highlights. Ron felt exhausted, his eyes starting to droop as Harry brought up another should-we or shouldn't-we.
"Draco's role in Dumbledore's death was a joke," Ron answered. "So, sure, let's tell the Aurors. But—and I can't believe I'm saying this—we tell them how distressed he was."
He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Harry seemed to be adamant on protecting Draco and his mother. Ron disagreed. He really disagreed. He wanted all the Death Eaters to receive equal or worse punishment. Let them feel the fear the Cattermoles did. Let them understand what it's like to worry for their families.
But—Narcissa saved Harry. She showed her real loyalty when it mattered most, and it was enough to gain Harry's support. Enough to protect Draco after being a little pissant for seven straight years.
Oh, hell. Ron did roll his eyes.
"I know you don't like it," Harry sounded more amused than irritated at Ron's disapproval, "but I really believe it's the right thing to do."
"Yeah, yeah." Ron sighed. "But if he even puts one toe out of line after all this and I find out—"
"You'll what?" Hermione gave him a knowing look. "You'll grumble about it to Harry and me?"
They all laughed, the feeling so beautifully freeing, Ron settled into its comforting embrace. He was pleased to see Hermione's hand still in his, and before his courage left him, he brought the back of it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her skin.
He felt himself blushing instantly. Harry pretended to be overly interested in a fleck of dust spinning in the air, while Hermione stared back at him with wonder in her eyes.
"The wedding!" she all but shouted.
"What?" He gaped at her.
"Bill. Fleur. We're at the wedding now, timeline-wise." Her eyes fell to the table. Ron's heart pushed against his eardrums. Could she feel how sweaty his hand was?
Harry, the prat, was trying so hard not to laugh. "You two danced for a long while, if I recall." Ron heard the joy in his voice. Tosser.
And so they went, taking the hunt step by step, deciding to tell the Ministry they'd found a safehouse but not revealing Grimmauld Place or its location. They'd explain their infiltration of the Ministry, but conveniently leave out who they'd impersonated, instead leaving that up to the Aurors to figure out and corroborate with their own employees.
"I don't want to mention the splinching," Ron said. "It's insignificant, but I'd rather not have my mum up in arms when she inevitably hears about it."
"What about—" Hermione stopped herself, a blush gracing her cheeks. "Nevermind."
He had an idea what she meant. He let go of her hand finally, bringing both of his to his lap. Shame filled him, utterly raw and pressing, like spoiled milk upsetting his stomach. He glanced at Harry. He knew what Hermione was going to say, too. Of course he did; they'd just spent how many months learning to read each other's thoughts?
"It's fine," Ron said. "I left. We can tell them that." How he'd explain that to his mother was a different story altogether.
"We'll tell them why, too." Harry's voice was like thunder. "Because Voldemort's soul poisoned everything."
"That's—" Ron's argument caught on his tongue with one look from Harry.
"I felt it, too. Heard these awful thoughts in my head. I felt like you two were constantly conspiring against me," Harry said. His green eyes bore holes into Ron. "I know that's the farthest thing from the truth."
"When I wore it, my heart felt blank." They turned to Hermione. "I know it sounds strange, but it was like there was a giant cavity in my chest everytime I put it on. Like it consumed the part of me that mattered most. It made it hard to care about much. And then when I took it off, all my fears came rushing back. Like I'd turned on a faucet."
"I felt relief when I took it off," Harry said.
"Me too, for a moment." Hermione looked from one to the other. "Then my feelings would overwhelm me. Fear for my parents, fear for us. Sadness and joy, all coming back in a second. It's why I always showered or napped after my turn with the locket. I couldn't face you both while I sorted through my emotions."
Ron stared at his hands. "Taking it off was a relief at first," he said. He couldn't believe he was saying this after all these months. "But then that voice you heard, Harry? It lingered. It clung on. It followed me without having to put on the locket."
He took a shaky breath. "Eventually, I felt hollowness without it. Like I needed it to think clearly, but everything it told me was horrible. Clouded my judgment. There were nights I'd lie awake listening to it, letting it whisper lies, believing them."
Some nights, he recalled, when the locket hung from Harry or Hermione's neck as they sat outside the tent keeping watch, Ron could still hear it, like a promise it would be back soon, that it would find him, a never-ending game of hide-and-seek where no matter the place Ron decided to hide, that piece of Voldemort would always find him. Always.
The skin prickled on the back of his neck.
"I left," he said, shaking off the feeling. "We don't have to dance around it. It'll be the biggest regret of my life, I've no doubt."
"You came back." Harry's voice was much gentler than before. "And Ron—" his eyes flicked over to Hermione before landing back on Ron's, "—everything it told you was a lie. It was nonsense, what it said that night—"
Harry paused, clearly unsure if he should keep talking. It felt good to share their experiences with the locket. So good, actually, that Ron realized he'd needed to hear this, needed to know his friends were just as impacted.
But he didn't really want to go further than that.
"Ron left. He came back. We found the sword of Gryffindor, left by Snape," Harry summarized, attempting to move on. That's when Ron felt Hermione shift in her seat. Of course she couldn't leave it alone.
"Right, but what happened?"
Hermione's question lingered in the air far longer than what felt comfortable. Ron knew he'd never told her any details from that night, and from the way Harry had conveniently started to study the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing since the Marauder's Map, it was clear he never had either.
"Did it come to life like the cup?" Hermione added after impatience took over.
Harry gaped at her. "The cup came to life?"
"It gave off a huge cloud of smoke. It shrieked and rolled and bounced, but we caught it and destroyed it," she said. Ron nodded in agreement, remembering how he had nearly landed in a pool of dried Basilisk blood trying to tackle the bloody thing, Hermione racing after with one of the beast's fangs poised to strike.
"The locket… did the same," Harry said.
Merlin, did Harry need lessons in evading more than a killing curse. Ron didn't even need to look at Hermione to know she wasn't buying it.
"Can I—can I tell you another day?"
He'd wanted to sound so secure and confident with that request, but his words had come out almost breathless, pleading. A whisper and a promise all in one that showed just how raw it still felt.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Ron—"
"Please." A stray tear fell from Ron's eyes. He ducked his head, wiping it roughly away, more annoyed than anything at how he was reacting to this conversation. She'd kissed him, hadn't she? What happened in that forest with Harry was nothing compared to what had happened between him and Hermione not even twelve hours ago. Even though neither of them had really said anything.
But what the locket did still hurt.
Her hand brushed against his skin, her fingers moving with determination as they laced with his. "Okay." She squeezed him tightly.
"That takes us to Xenophilius." Harry pushed on. "Do you think he's okay?"
"I—" Ron could feel Hermione's eyes on him still, "—hope so. For Luna's sake. I didn't have the heart to tell her when we were at Shell Cottage."
"Me neither." Harry sighed.
Ron seized the change of topic. "How much do we tell them about the Hallows?" he asked. "Honestly, I say we don't say a word."
"Nothing?" Hermione gaped. "But the wand. The cloak."
"If the Aurors know about the cloak, Harry'll never get to keep it."
"Or the wand," Harry agreed. "I still have it, for now, until I can bring it to Dumbledore's grave. I was thinking of doing that today but," he gestured around them, "we're here."
"Of all people," Hermione muttered, "I thought you'd jump at the chance to prove the Hallows' worth."
After that, they reiterated their plan about Malfoy Manor, deciding it best to keep Bill and Fleur's home out of the story. They found another safe house, they'd say, one where they were able to plan out their Gringotts adventure.
And as for that, they planned to take full ownership of the dragon's release. So long as they left out the tiny detail of Harry Imperio-ing a goblin. Harry wasn't keen on the idea, but Hermione eventually convinced him it would be better this way, considering a traumatized dragon was currently roaming the air without any clue how to navigate this world.
"That takes us to the battle, and, well, they were there for that," Harry concluded.
Silence hung around them. But for the first time in a very long time, Ron felt the peace he'd so desperately been craving.
"That felt good," Hermione said. He and Harry looked to her. "I mean, it was awful living it, and I never want to go back, but it feels so nice just to say it out loud. Maybe not all of it, but…"
She blushed.
Ron squeezed her hand, their fingers laced so tightly, he lost where he ended and she began. "No, you're right. I'm so glad to know what you went through, both of you, because we never really paused, did we? We never really took a moment for each other."
"That's on me." Harry spoke softly. "And I'm sorry for that. Looking back, knowing how defeating Voldemort was my only goal—I think I put up walls to everything else, including you two."
"We all did." Hermione sighed. "But we're here now. We made it. And, I think, we're on the right path."
She made a point to pull their intertwined hands onto the table, another blush pushing against her cheeks.
"So let's be open about things. About how we feel."
Ron gulped. He looked at Harry's knowing smirk. He looked at this newly growing relationship on display on the table. He would do it now, he'd say he loved her, he'd proclaim it like he should've done months ago, at Bill's wedding…
"But," his heart leaped at Hermione's words, "first, we should practice our story. Get it completely foolproof before the Aurors check in."
And so they did, all the while Hermione getting closer and closer till Ron had an arm around her and her head rested against his chest.
As the daylight dimmed and night rose, Ron realized that maybe he didn't need to hear her say it after all. She was in his arms, for Merlin's sake.
And he was home.